Corning rang the doorbell. The woman who answered the ring was broad of shoulder and hip. Her arms were bare, and they were well muscled. Her eyes had an expression of stony hostility.
“Well,” she said, “what do you want?”
Ken Corning grinned.
“I’m an attorney,” he said. “Pm representing Amos Dangerfield who lives next door.”
“Oh,” she said, “the one who murdered the newspaperman, eh?”
Corning grinned.
“No,” he said, “he didn’t murder the newspaperman.”
The woman said, uncordially: “Well, come in and sit down. Don’t try to get me mixed into the thing, though. I don’t want to go on a witness stand and have a bunch of lawyers yelling questions at me.”
“Certainly,” he soothed. “Pm just trying to get the facts. Mr. Dangerfield lives next door to you. That’s his flat, the one on this side, I believe?”
The woman nodded, led the way into a sitting-room. The windows opened out on a strip of lawn. Across that lawn was a driveway. At the end of the driveway were three garages, beyond the garages was a large rambling house.
“What did you think I’d know?” asked the woman.
“Something about what time the car was taken from the garage,” he said.
“I only know I heard a lot of men out there this morning. It was early, just before daylight. Right around when it was getting gray dawn. They trampled things up and took flashlight pictures. They claim they found blood and hair on the bumper of the car, and that there was a place on the left front fender where...”
“Yes,” he said, “I know all about that. How about prior to that time? Did you hear the garage door open, or anything like that?”
“No.”
“How many people on this west side of the house?”
“Three.”
“Can you give me their names and where I can find them? I presume they’re working now.”
“Two of them are. There’s one that isn’t. He’s out of work now. I think he’s leaving here on the first.”
“What’s his name?”
“Oscar Briggs. He was an accountant. He specialized in income tax work. There ain’t any business in his line now. His clients haven’t had any income.”
“I wonder if I could run up and speak with him.”
“I guess so. I’ll take you up to his room.”
They climbed stairs, went down a corridor to the back of the house. She knocked on a door. Windows looked down in the driveway, right at the very entrance of the garage.
Steps sounded from the inside of the room. A man opened the door, saw the broad shoulders of the woman on the threshold.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Markle, but I can’t let you have—”
She interrupted him.
“There’s a gentleman wants to see you.”
She stood to one side so that he could see Ken Corning.
The man was tall and slender. He carried himself with an air of dignity. But there was a subtle something in his manner which suggested that his poise was punctured. He seemed a man who had made something of an established position for himself, and had come to regard that position as being secure. Then he had found his values dissolving before his eyes, his very foundations crumbling. Pie kept the outward semblance of dignity and poise, but there was something in the back of his eyes, a suggestion of panic.
Ken Corning moved forward and held out his hand.
“My name’s Corning, Mr. Briggs. I’d like to talk with you for a few minutes.”
“Come in,” said Briggs.
“You’ll excuse me,” said Mrs. Markle. “I’ve got work to do, and there’s no way I can help you.”
Corning said: “Certainly, and thank you, Mrs. Markle.”
Briggs indicated a chair.
Corning sat down. The windows of the room looked down directly upon the doorways of the garages. There was a writing desk in the room and Briggs had evidently been half way through a letter.
“I’m representing Mr. Dangerfield,” said Corning.
“A lawyer?”
“Yes.”
“I see.”
“You’ve read the papers?”
“Yes. Of course we knew something about it. The police came somewhere around daylight this morning. They wanted to examine the car, and they were trying to locate Dangerfield. He had skipped out. Seemed a mighty nice fellow, too. I understood he was doing some research work. Has the entire upper floor of the building across from us, I believe.”
Corning said: “Yes,” and waited.
Briggs moved uncomfortably.
“That all you know?” asked Ken Corning.
“Yes.”
“You didn’t hear the garage doors open or close during the night, didn’t hear the car come in? Didn’t, by any chance, see that Mr. Dangerfield was in his rooms last night at any particular time, or see him driving the machine, did you?”
Briggs fidgeted around in his chair.
“Look here,” he said, “who told you to come to me?”
“No one. I’m representing a client who’s charged with a very grave offense, and I want to see if I can find out something about the facts.”
Briggs kept his eyes averted.
“Well,” said Corning.
“No. I don’t know anything else.”
Ken Corning said, very solemnly: “It’s a murder case, you know, Mr. Briggs.”
“And I don’t want to be put on the stand and have a lot of lawyers yell questions at me,” said Briggs.
Corning smiled affably.
“Oh, it isn’t as bad as that. You’ll be subpenaed, of course, and you’ll have to tell what you know. But people won’t do any shouting.”
“You mean I’ll have to go to court?”
“Oh, yes. You’ll be called. The fact that you didn’t hear anything might be of some value. Negative testimony, you know, and all that.”
“But I don’t want to go to court.”
“Unfortunately, you’ll have to. It’s one of those things that come up at times, like jury duty. And, of course, Mr. Briggs, if you do know anything, it would be far better to tell me now. You see, if you get on the stand and testify under oath and conceal any facts it would be a grave offense. On the other hand, if you should insist to me that you know nothing, and then tell a different story when you got on the witness stand, it would make you very uncomfortable, put you in a false light, you know.”
Briggs sighed, suddenly raised his eyes to Corning’s.
“All right,” he said, “if you put it that way, I’ll tell what I know. I hadn’t intended to tell a soul. But I guess I’d have had to weaken before the case was over, particularly if it got to looking bad for Mr. Dangerfield. I don’t think he drove the car at all.”
“No?” asked Ken Corning, sitting very still in his chair.
“No. I think he was at home abed. You see, I can look across into his flat. There aren’t any women on this side of the house, and Mr. Dangerfield is a bachelor, something of a recluse, I understand. As a result we don’t draw the shades at night, none of us.
“I was up late last night. I saw Dangerfield padding around in his pajamas. He went to bed about midnight. I was sitting up, trying to figure some way out of my personal situation. My business is none too good at the present time.
“Well, about one o’clock, or a little earlier, I heard the sound of the garage door downstairs being opened, rather slowly. I had turned out the light in my room because my eyes hurt. In fact, I’d put on pajamas, and had tried to sleep, but couldn’t.
“I looked out of the window.
“There were four men who were pushing a car out of Dangerfield’s garage. They had another car parked at the curb with the motor running.
“Of course, I thought right away of car thieves. They were evidently running the car out of the garage by man power so that the motor wouldn’t make a noise and alarm anyone.